Don't send it now

You've written the email. It's good, too. Every line is sharp, the facts are on your side, and hitting send would feel like justice. A retail worker drafts the text to the manager who shorted her hours. A driver composes the review that will torch the dispatcher. The contractor types the message that ends the relationship with the client who keeps moving the goalposts. Finger over the button, certain.

Seneca's single most practical instruction is also his simplest: "The greatest remedy for anger is delay" (Of Anger 2.29, Stewart). Not forgiveness, not deep breathing, not pretending you're fine. Just time. Anger, he says, has a fierce first impulse that fades on its own if you let it — "if it delays, it will come to an end." The case that seems airtight at full heat reads differently in an hour, and the version you'd send then is almost always the one you won't regret.

This is the practice that holds the week together. You can't always choose what you feel. You can almost always choose when you act. Put the draft in the folder. Walk the receiving line, restock the cooler, take the next call. Decide later, from cooler ground.